George the Ghost

“Remember, he’s a friendly ghost”

One last reminder from my brother before the guest bedroom door of his circa 1825 home closes. The home that my brother claims is haunted, by a ghost he and his wife affectionately refer to as George. 

According to my brother, George can be frequently heard climbing the 10 stairs leading up to the top floor. Those 10 stairs existed prior to a 1930’s renovation project – updated building safety codes require the 13 stairs currently in place. 

My brother also tells of an overnight guest who recalls the bedroom door opening, a gentleman peering into the room, then stepping softly back out into the hall and closing the door upon realizing someone already occupied the space.

Never having fully committed to a belief in the existence of ghosts, I settled into bed and easily drifted off into a peaceful slumber. Sometime in the night, I awoke when I felt a shift in the balance of the mattress – that shift you feel when someone sits down on the opposite side of the bed. Still drowsy, I began writing it off as a liminal sensation due to transitioning out of a sleep stage and into one of my normal, brief periods of nighttime wakefulness. 

Except. 

The mattress shifted again, as someone eased into bed and lay down behind me.

Wide awake, heart racing, trying desperately to control my breathing rate, I begin mentally repeating a silent mantra, “George is a friendly ghost! George is a friendly ghost!” I resign myself to remaining frozen on my side, feigning sleep for an indeterminate number of hours – alert, still, and silent until daybreak.

I woke up sometime later, surprised that I was able to fall asleep in my state of panic. It is still dark, I do believe in ghosts, and somehow I know that I am alone again. 

When I relate the story to a friend, she giggles and asks why I didn’t scooch over and spoon Ol’ George.

And one day, I hear the footsteps of a ghost I’ll refer to as Someone Else’s Misdirected Rage. And I assure you, this is not a friendly ghost.

I remain alert, still, and silent as Misdirected Rage descends the steep, dark, and dangerous stairwell:

All seems calm.

Lightning flashes.

Thunder booms.

The storm descends.

There is no shelter.

There is no escape.

There is no logic.

There is only rage.

The storm passes.

We pretend nothing happened.

And then.

Libby scooches right on over, takes Ol’ Misdirected Rage by the hand and guides it to the newer, safer stairway she installed to meet updated safety codes under development since 2018. Together, they begin climbing.

Elizabeth takes the first steps by leaning into her recently excavated sense of self-worth. She firmly insists on respectful treatment, and invites healthy conversation.

Biz boldly takes the next steps. She finds her voice, addresses the ghost by name, identifies its unfair behavior, and points out the unsafe stairwell it has used.

Liz takes the next few steps cautiously, She begins by allowing a reasonable cooling off period, then follows up with empathy – after all, she has frequently traveled the steps of Misdirected Rage, not knowing there were other stairways available.

Beth continues to ascend, taking responsibility only for what is hers. She reviews historical data, and consciously chooses to treat this as an anomaly in this particular relationship.

Libby gently releases the hand of the ghost as she steps out of the stairwell. She has done her work, and she is confident that she has done it well.